Wilfred lost all control, sprang at Etienne, struck him in a downright English fashion between the eyes, and knocked him down. The knife fell from his hand, and Wilfred seized it before the other youths could recover from their astonishment, and flung it into a pond close at hand.
Etienne rose up.
Now my young readers will probably anticipate a bout at fisticuffs; but no such vulgar a combat commended itself to the proud young Norman, even thus suddenly humiliated; neither did he, under these very trying circumstances, lose his self command.
Yet his hatred was none the less, nor did he cherish a less deadly design.
"Let the young brute go," said he, as he arose, pointing to Eadwin. "There is something more important to be settled now than the question whether the young porker shall retain his cloven hoof or not. Wilfred, dost thou know thou hast struck a gentleman?"
"I have struck a young butcher."
"Thanks; churls fight with words; knights, and would-be knights, with swords. Draw, then, and defend thyself; Pierre and Louis will see fair play."
"Nay," said the other two lads with one voice, "it were a sin and shame to fight thus, and we should have our knighthood deferred for years did we permit it. Pages may not fight to the death without the permission of their liege lord. The baron must give permission."
"Wilfred, dost thou accept my challenge? I honour thy base blood in making it."
"My ancestors were as noble as thine; nay, they ruled here while thine were but pirates and cutthroats. I do accept it."